A Toast
by vin.fireclaw
Summary: On the eve of Juri's own personal, quiet revolution, she must break out of her shell.


A/N: This fic was written for the the first prompt at lj community yuri (underscore) challenge in 2008. The prompt was: "You get a strange feeling when you're about to leave a place…like you'll not only miss the people you love but you'll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you'll never be this way again." – from "Reading Lolita in Tehran" by Azar Nafisi

**A Toast**

A sense of fear—no, not quite. It is a sensation that prickles across your neck, causing you to shiver and silently shake from where you stand. It is nightfall. You have donned one of your beautiful dresses and are decked in some of your finest jewelry. It is the exact opposite of the outfit you choose to wear in daylight. During the school hours, you are girl dressed like a prince with a dangerous air around her. An air not of a noble, but more of a wounded beast: you are one who no one dares to approach in fear of getting scratched and yet are still admired from afar.

And now you are a princess waiting, wanting to be saved. See, here you go, up the elevator, up to your tower. Perhaps tonight your prince will ride to meet you and beg you to let down your hair. It's a pity that, even if you straighten the curls out, your hair will never be long enough for him to climb.

A sense of dread—no, not quite. It is a whisper in the back of your mind, a dire warning, an ominous harbinger of what is yet to come. You get this odd impression that there will be no turning back. You have nearly reached the end of the concerto. Soon the _candenza_ will come. You will have to prepare your bow, ready your instrument, breathe in and breathe out. Your script will soon end and there your improvisation will begin.

In the morning, you lean here in this elevator with your arms folded protectively across your chest. You carry yourself with an air of indifference that is both to project your supposed nonchalance and to guard your open wounds. Over there a red-haired boy stands pretending to be prince along with a blue-haired boy who seemingly tries to stop or, at the very least, measure time. And there an easily provoked green-haired boy who appears when it pleases him stands. Together, as the Student Council of the School of Make-Believe, you speak of breaking the world's shell to survive. It sounds preposterous but you've accepted the philosophy as your own. Even now, at night, you lean at your designated place. When the elevator comes to a crashing halt you cannot help but to whisper, breaking the silence:

"For the revolution of the world."

Candles flicker every once and a while as the wind blows, but none are ever blown out. A red silk cloth covers the table. There your portrait rests in the center next surrounded by bouquets of orange roses and a bottle of wine. Today, there are only two chairs to match the two crystal wineglasses that are also on the table. You smile at the triteness of the layout; it is a candlelight vigil for yourself.

How vain.

You bypass the table and the feeling of cool marble hits the bottom of your palms as you grasp the railings. Bright yellow lights are beneath you, they are those from student's dorms and streetlights. From here, you can see the whole school; you feel as if you are in control. The wind is gentle, light. It is peaceful night.

"Wine?" someone asks from behind you.

"Thank you," you say as you turn around and accept the filled wineglass. You hand brushes against hers in the process and Shiori blushes.

"You look…nice," she says softly, looking down, likely feeling self-conscious in her school uniform. She retracts her offered hand and clutches the wine bottle to her chest. The contrast between you two has never been so apparent. You are the impenetrable, unflappable ojou-sama, and she is the normal, delicate schoolgirl.

You nod and turn around. The atmosphere between you two is never quite comfortable, even now…especially now. There is always an unspoken tension of things never said, but are known.

You wear no locket, but even so, you two are linked, chained to it.

"I heard you're leaving," Shiori says after a tentative silence in an equal tentative voice.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It's my turn."

Shiori walks closer to the railings, to your side. She cradles the wine bottle with both hands. She looks so innocent there, looking like that. But you know better. As fragile as she looks, it would be you who would break trying to go against her.

"Why don't you stay a bit longer?" she asks, trying to sound calm, but both of you know she is actually pleading. "You only have a year left before you graduate."

"There isn't a reason for me to stay. No. I can't stay here. I have to move on."

You mean what you say. Ohtori is the shell and you have grown too big for it. It is suffocating you. You tire of hearing the same song play in the background, day in and day out. You tire of all the phrases, the meaningless gestures of bravado and chivalry, and ghosts around every corridor. Even though you don't remember much, it's all there, those apparitions from a hellish year that is all a blur. You only recall bits and pieces of it, but what you remember is enough to give you nightmares. Those nightmares are of swords being ripped out of one's chest, of a senpai that returns from the dead only to die again, and of a pink-haired girl in a boy's uniform who no one remembers. You're not sure you do either.

"So there isn't any way for me to convince you to stay?" Shiori asks as she looks at you with those beautiful eyes of her, making your heart skip a beat and you inwardly curse the power she holds over you.

"There is. But would you be cruel enough to ask it of me?" you answer quietly, your voice unguarded and raw. Today, you will wear no masks and assume no airs. You are merely a high school student and nothing more.

Your openness startles her. For a second your heart and your resolve sinks—her eyes are dark and you feel fear. You're scared of her, your chest throbs in trepidation. There is complete darkness in her eyes and a cruel smirk on her lips. You are more than ready to announce your defeat; you are ready to bow your head in defeat and sink back to the darkness of your dorm room. But when she blinks, all these impulses disappear. Shiori looks ashamed of herself. Your now realize how small she looks.

"No. But I still don't understand why."

"Today is my revolution. I don't need for it to be loud or dramatic or for it to be fought with swords. I just need it to be here and now," you say as you regain your resolve. There are no princes here so you'll just have to save yourself. You don't care for titles, but if it meant that you would become "prince-like," then fine. "Tonight, I'm breaking both our chains. I can't keep hiding in your shadow and you in mine. It's holding both of us back. "

"W-What are you talking about, Juri?"

"Do you know who was in my locket?"

"Your locket? That's what started everything, wasn't it?" she says looking down, shuffling her feet. "It wasn't Ichiro, was it."

"It…was you."

She looks up at you, her expression is both surprised and not. You know, from here, there is no turning back. You know the dangers that you will face, and that you are about to breach the relationship you hold dearest to your heart. Even though you can't stand that feeling, the knowledge of her hating you—or worst—her fearing you, despising you, you know you'll have to jump this hurdle tonight. Tonight you will have to announce and describe each one of your personal demons for the world—no, for her…for Shiori to hear.

"Oh."

You close your eyes; your script has almost ended. All you need to finish is this night, this one final night. Then you will be free. You're not sure how it will end, but tonight there will be finality. There will be an ending. You hope that it will end with a sweeping solo, a song played primarily on the violin's lowest strings, deep and moving, with you and her toasting to a girl who would no longer exist under this shimmering moon.

All you know is this moment, this thought, and this sight. You will only exist as you do in this moment, at the very edge, teetering between the Juri of old and the one you will soon forge. Once you leave this tower and this school, you will cast it all behind. You will look back in recollection, but will never live in the past again.

So for now, just savor in it all.


End file.
